


At Knockturn's End

by crazyparakiss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abortion, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 14:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17830286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyparakiss/pseuds/crazyparakiss
Summary: I don’t want a baby. I don’t want a baby to be the reason he gives this a go with me.





	At Knockturn's End

**Author's Note:**

> Since I wrote "Weep Little Lion Man" I've wanted to write an abortion fic that showed the positives of abortion. I didn't in that because it was for a friend who personally didn't want to read abortion, but I had a sudden desire to explore the theme. Since I kept putting it off due to worries about how it would be received. The older I get the more I'm like IDGAF. So, here is my unapologetic abortion fic.
> 
> Also, HUGE SHOUTOUT to BrightOwl for betaing this last minute. They are the best!

It’s something she’d never noticed—the signs and the people, the ones who sneer at every woman who walks into the clinic at the end of Knockturn. Because that’s where this place has to be, isn’t it? In the dank, repugnant part of Wizarding London. Where all undesirables spend their time. 

 

She is an undesirable now, or so she learns when they jeer as she enters through a steel door. One without windows. For privacy she assumes. 

 

It’s a pleasant interior. Welcoming, if sterile and chilly from the biting December wind that refuses to relent. At the counter, a gentle-faced woman greets her with a smile that sombre and full of forgiveness. She supposes a lot of women who enter here need that smile. 

 

She certainly does. The realisation barrels through her when the witch at the desk asks for her name. 

 

“Dominique,” she replies, accepting a clipboard. 

 

“Dominique,” the woman gives another of those forgiving smiles. “If you’d have a seat over there and fill out these forms we will call you back to see the Healer on duty.” 

 

Nodding, Dominique takes the papers to one of the seats. The room is both blessedly and cursedly empty. Blessedly because she doesn’t want to run into anyone she might know. Anyone who might tell her mum. And cursedly because she feels utterly alone. 

 

The forms are standard enough. Asking the same questions she always receives when she meets with her GP at St Mungo's.  _ Name. Date of birth. Address.  _

 

But it’s the questions that have to do with her reason for being here that give Dominique a moment of pause.  _ Date of last menstrual cycle. Previous pregnancies (please circle a number). Miscarriages (please circle a number). Stillbirths (please circle a number). Abortions (please circle a number).  _

 

Dominique’s blue eyes linger on the word  _ Abortion _ . Staring at her in bold lettering, and she circles the number “0” while thinking how that’s about to change. She signs the consent forms, deciding not to hesitate. Dominique is nothing of what a mother should be. 

 

She drinks too much. Enjoys the clubs as often as she can. Smokes spliff. Is far too selfish with her time. 

 

Yet, even if she wasn’t. Even if Dominique lived her sister’s perfect fantasy of a life she wouldn’t want a baby. The desire isn’t in her. She’s done enough child rearing from the years of helping with Louis. The late in life brother her mum didn’t want but didn’t dare abort. He was a gift and a burden. A gift because Louis is the literal light of their lives. A burden because Mum left him in his sisters’ care while she and Dad worked hard at their careers. Vic only liked Louis when he was cooperative and cute, so most of his difficult moments fell to Dominique. She was the one who rocked him to sleep when curse-breaking kept Mum and Dad away. The one who read him stories and took him to Little Quidditch matches. 

 

“Weasley,” a voice calls from the door that leads to the back part of the clinic, startling Dominique out of her thoughts. She stands to follow the Healer’s Aid.  

 

She’s a kind woman, like the one at the front desk. She asks the usual invasive questions. Family history. Allergies to any tinctures. Last physical examination. Then comes the questions she’s been anticipating and dreading. “And you’re here for an abortion?” 

 

“Yes,” Dominique answers. 

 

“Do you want to discuss other options?” She seems as if she hates asking that question, and Dominique figures it’s probably policy. 

 

“No, I’m not looking to give birth.” 

 

“Okay,” she sorts through the other forms, reading quickly. “This says you’re seven weeks.” 

 

“Yes,” she replies. Thinking back to the night in question. The one where Teddy had come round to show Louis some cords on the guitar. Something Dad had asked him to do when Louis expressed interest. 

 

“Well, that means you’ll be able to take the tincture. Past nine weeks we do an extraction. You can choose to wait if you aren’t completely sure. Extraction is more invasive, but is safe and effective.” She hands Dominique a pamphlet that details the effects of the abortion by tincture.  _ To induce a miscarriage.  _

 

“Will I see it?” Is her first, pressing question. 

 

“You might, but mostly it will be clots and blood. Most people can’t see the foetus. It’s about the size of a blueberry right now, so it is unlikely you will see it when it passes from your body.” 

 

Still, she’s not sure if she wants to see it. The idea is horrifying. “Can I wait to do an extraction?” 

 

“If you would prefer, you can wait.” There’s no judgement in her tone. “There’s nothing wrong with preferring not to miscarry at home.” Dominique nods, accepting another pamphlet. Then the woman says, “You don’t have to decide today. If you’d like to go home and think over your options, that’s fine. You’ve got two weeks to decide if you want to do a tincture. You’ve got longer to decide on the extraction.” 

 

Again she nods, in thanks before she gathers her bag and takes her pamphlets home. 

 

*

 

Louis is staying with her for the weekend. Her parents are off to visit Victoire and little Auguste. Being ten, Louis was not horrible excited to go see the baby and Mum wasn’t in the mood to fight him. So, here he is chattering away and Dominique is weary. She wants quiet for her pamphlets. To read in peace. To assure herself against everything she’s been raised to believe. 

 

“Come here, you,” she tells her rambunctious brother. Holding him close when he settles on the sofa at her side. “I love you,” Dominique tells him. Uncharacteristically free with her feelings. 

 

“I love you, too,” Louis replies in his usual chipper way. “Are you going to miss me when I’m at school?” 

 

“Of course,” she replies, kissing the top of his bright blond hair. “What will I do with myself when you’re away?” 

 

“Get a boyfriend, maybe,” Louis responds. Cheeky fucker. Then, he turns his large, dark blue gaze upon her as he says. “Teddy would make a good boyfriend.” 

 

Dominique has a bit of a laugh about that. Louis had been but an infant when Teddy and Victoire started their short love affair. A tryst really, that lasted all of four weeks. Neither was at fault. They tried it, decided it was too weird, and called it off. They had liked the look of one another, had felt comfortable in the other’s presence, but it was nothing grand or memorable. Most of the family has forgotten, or they take the piss out of Vic and Ted for it when they’ve had too much drink and too much reminiscing. Dominique is the only one who remembers it vividly. Probably because she had wanted to stand where her sister had stood. 

 

Her desire to stand there is what has led to these circumstances. But she doesn’t reveal any of this to Louis. Instead, she smiles and says, “Do you think so?” 

 

“Oh yeah,” Louis gushes. “He’s tall, smart, has really cool hair and tattoos. Plus Roxie said he’s got a guitar that makes anyone wet—which I assumed was a good thing.” Dominique laughs because he’s not wrong. 

 

“Yeah, he seems great.” She agrees easily. 

 

He looks at his mobile when it makes a noise and lights up Then he looks at Dominique with a triumphant expression. There’s a knock at the flat’s door. Dominique cocks a curious glance at the door before she moves off of the sofa.

 

When the door opens, Dominique finds Teddy standing on the stoop. His mobile in hand—seeming to check something there. Before she can ask, Louis shouts, “Teddy, you came.” 

 

“Yeah, mate, and I brought my guitar.” He gives a passing greeting to Dominique as he steps inside. 

 

She shuts the door, following behind him, startled when Teddy reveals he also brought takeaway. “I went to that Indian place your dad took us to last time.” That piques Dominique’s interest. 

 

“You went to eat with my dad and brother?” 

 

“We went after my guitar lesson,” Louis supplies, helpfully. “Dad usually takes us when we finish.” 

 

“Your dad doesn’t accept that I’m not poor and insists on feeding me.” He shrugs, pulling out cartons. Setting them on the living room table. “He forgets I’m not seven-years-old.” 

 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better he forgets I’m not still in nappies.” 

 

Teddy laughs—a rich sound that warms her belly. “Well, that’s how fathers are, aren’t they?” 

 

_ Fathers,  _ Dominique thinks. Her hand goes unconsciously to her stomach, wondering if that’s how he imagines he will be. It fills her with a sense of guilt. One she knows is rooted in ridiculous sentiment. Teddy is an orphan, like Uncle Harry and she is putting Uncle Harry’s desire for family on Teddy. 

 

“I suppose,” she finally murmurs. But Teddy and Louis are absorbed in talking about the newest release of the comic they follow— _ Silent Susan: Tales From the Department of Mysteries. _

 

She eats her curry in silence, her mind on the pamphlets in her purse. 

 

*

 

Teddy stays until Louis needs to be carried to bed. And he’s kind enough to carry her brother’s lanky form to her spare room. Tucking him in and telling him to sleep tight. Dominique goes to the kitchen—in need of wine. 

 

_ I don’t want a baby. I don’t want a baby to be the reason he gives this a go with me.  _

 

She downs a glass and then another. The flavour of it creating an unpleasant tang as it mingles with the dinner that lingers on her tongue. There’s a sound of something falling, but Teddy calls out that he’s got it. Dominique pours herself another drink. 

 

Her glass is almost to her lips when Teddy walks in—pamphlets in hand. There’s an unreadable expression on his face when he says, “What’s this?” His tone is even—neutral—and it sends a shiver of worry through her. 

 

“I,” Dominique begins and stops. 

 

Teddy chews his lip for a thoughtful moment, then he asks, “Is it mine?” 

 

“Yes.” The answer is immediate, and she could kick herself for her honesty. What if he demands she keep it? What if he threatens to tell her family if she goes through with the abortion? What if he hates her for this? So many what ifs moving through her mind at a rapid speed causes Dominique to miss what he says. “What?” she asks, heart pounding when she looks up into his face.

 

He’s closer now. Towering over her with a height that intimidates most. “I asked if you want to talk about it?” Despite his large frame and sharp features, there’s a gentleness to Teddy that always manages to soothe Dominique. She leans into his warmth and without hesitation, he wraps strong arms around her. 

 

“I won’t keep it,” Dominique says into his shirt. Breathing in the manly scent of him—all leather, musk, patchouli and his soap. “I don’t want a baby.” 

 

The sigh he releases sounds relieved, and she looks up to find him smiling. “I won’t ask you to keep it.” 

 

“Can’t have a one-off bringing home consequences?” There’s a definite edge to her question. 

 

“That’s not it,” Teddy speaks with a careful tone. As if he’s measuring his words before he next says, “I’m not really fit to be a father.” When she shoots him a look of disbelief, Teddy chuckles. “I’d probably be all right at it, sure. But what I mean is—I don’t want to be a dad.” 

 

“You don’t?” She’s definitely surprised. Dominique was full of the notion that all orphans want a family of their own. 

 

As if he can read her thoughts, Teddy cups her cheek. When she gives him her full attention, Teddy says, “I’m not Harry, Nikkita. My idea of happiness is living with someone who likes the same shit I do, enjoys going out for piss-ups, wants to travels, and who’d be okay with raising a few dogs.” 

 

“I like dogs,” she replies. 

 

He laughs, “I know you do.” The skin around his eyes crinkles, “I was hoping we could give this a go.” Teddy gestures between them. 

 

“I really don’t want a baby...like ever.” She warns. 

 

His smile is soft, “Neither do I, and that’s okay.” 

 

Relief makes her sag against him. “I love you so much I might have considered it if you asked me to keep it, and that’s what scares me the most.” A truth she didn’t want to speak, but that rolled off her tongue regardless.

 

His mouth is on hers—a welcome pressure that she opens up to when his tongue touches her lips. “You never have to do something you are uncomfortable with for me,” he says. Resting his forehead against hers. “I’m want to love you in all your you-ness.” 

 

*

 

The first time they’d had sex it was the climax of a desire that had been building for months—possibly years. They’d been at Shell Cottage. Louis was sleeping after a guitar lesson, Dad had left for an emergency job, Mum was off with Vic—preparing for the baby. And suddenly it was just them. Alone in a silent house. 

 

Dominique isn’t sure which of them started it, all she knows is that they collided. Tongue, teeth, gasps and sweat. Primal need that bordered on brutality. 

 

Tonight isn’t a collision. This is a slow dance. Feather-light touches that make gooseflesh rise in their wakes. Breath is warm at her ear—gasps that make arousal roll through her. She makes him sound like that. She makes his eyes dark with lust. 

 

“I’m ready,” she whispers—lips catching over his short, teal beard. “I need you.” 

 

There’s no hesitation, Teddy does as she asks. Entering Dominique in a slow but sure motion. He’s full and thick and  _ so hard _ within her. So hot it feels as if he’s pulsating, and she clenches the walls of her cunt around him. Wanting him imprinted in her body. 

 

“God damn,” he breathes. 

 

“Move,” she begs. 

 

*

 

Dominique holds Teddy’s arm when they leave via Floo. The Healer had suggested it was less stressful on her body than Side-Along Apparition. A lot of suggestions had come from the Healer, but Dominique cannot remember most of them now that they are back at her flat. 

 

Teddy leads her to the sofa. His guitar calloused fingers catch over her cheek, and he leans down to kiss the top of her hair. “You did well,” he murmurs against her. 

 

He takes one of the throw pillows off the sofa, placing a warming charm on it before he settles it over her stomach. “It’ll help with the cramping.” He wipes away tears she just now realises she’s crying. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she apologises. Wiping at her eyes furiously, “I don’t know why I’m crying.” 

 

Teddy’s grin is gentle. “The Healer said that was normal. Your hormones are having a bit of a shock.” He pulls at her hands, ever compassionate, when she keeps hiding her face. 

 

“I hate that I’m sad—I wanted this,” Dominique whispers. His thumbs are rubbing soothing motions over her knuckles. 

 

“How about some tea?” Teddy asks. With an upbeat tone—one that’s meant to comfort—he adds, “Gran always says tea cures all ails.” 

 

She nods and Teddy lifts her hands to his mouth, pressing a quick kiss to them before he stands. Dominique watches him disappear into the kitchen. A cramp makes her wince, but the pillow helps relieve her as she hugs it to her abdomen. Being alone in the room gives her a chance to examine the medicines the clinic sent home with her. Antibiotics, some pain relievers, and a new birth control. 

 

Teddy comes in while she’s staring at the phial, and he sets the tea tray on the low table in her living room. “It’s a good idea to take it, even if we won’t need it for a couple of weeks.” His tone is joking, and Dominique laughs. Glad that he’s there to relieve the tension that comes from her whacked out hormones. When she looks at his grinning face, Teddy adds, “The Healer was sure I understood I couldn’t get my dick in you for at least two weeks.” 

 

“You do look like a randy bastard,” she jokes back. 

 

Teddy settles beside her on the sofa, a cup of tea in hand—one he offers to Dominique. After she takes it, Teddy lifts her feet and places them into his lap. Making sure she remains stretched out for comfort. She’s watching him as he begins to massage her feet. 

 

They turn on the telly. Teddy asking if there’s anything she wants to watch, but she’s not interested. She only has a telly for when Louis comes to visit. Teddy switches it to a footie match, but he’s only half paying attention, Dominique realises when she looks up from her hands to find him watching her. 

 

“What?” She asks. 

 

“I was thinking—when you’re better—we should take a trip.” He cocks his head, teal hair falling into his eyes, then adds, “A fun, boozy trip where we have lots of sex and come home with a new dog.” 

 

She laughs, “I’d like that.” 

  
  
  
  



End file.
